


A Little Deeper

by goldleaf1066



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, But Taken Seriously, Crack, First Kiss, M/M, Nostalgia, PWP, Prompt Fill, Sharks, as if you couldn't tell, the shark is incidental to the bj, unconventional therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 05:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldleaf1066/pseuds/goldleaf1066
Summary: Will is in danger of slipping beneath the surface. Hannibal keeps him afloat by putting right a past disappointment.Will feels the smile splitting his face; he is mesmerised, transported back to wearing thrift-shop hand-me-downs and scrawling on his textbooks and then it ploughs unstoppably out of the murk toward him like some Cold War submarine: the shark.As it approaches, he is aware of Hannibal moving to stand beside him.





	A Little Deeper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFierceBeast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/gifts).



> This was originally part of the [prompt/flash fic collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043398/chapters/45231628) but it got a bit long - so I decided to post as a stand-alone.
> 
> The prompt was from the Ao3 tag generator on Twitter, a screenshot of which was sent to me apropos of nothing by TheFierceBeast: _sentimental shark-filled blowjobs_. Yikes!

“I feel as though I’ve been tied to a stone and pushed over the edge. No amount of thrashing,” Will says, eyes closing, leaning back against the headrest, “can stop me from going under.”

Hannibal keeps his eyes on the road. Billboards flash by like great dorsal fins, lit up jarringly by roadside lamps and disappearing into the evening just as suddenly. “Are you so sure you will drown,” he says, “if you don’t keep thrashing?”

“My instinct is to thrash.” Will thinks of the scene they’ve just left; too many limbs, not enough bodies. Nausea, the sensation of something creeping across his flesh in increments, oily and cold, is with him even now.

“I might normally advocate getting out of your comfort zone.”

“But it’s not giving me much comfort.” Will laughs, a small, hollow sound. He turns his face to the window, eyes sliding open as the streetlights strobe against his face. “What do you advise, doctor?”

“Distraction, perhaps,” Hannibal says, slowing the car as traffic ahead begins to build. “Something to occupy your conscious mind, in order that your subconscious take care of itself.”

“So, what, I go see a movie and I’ll be normal when the credits roll?”

“How would you define normal?”

“Overrated.” Will slumps, scratching his neck where the seatbelt rubs against his skin. He glances up. “My dad promised me he’d take me to one of those for my birthday, once.” They’ve slowed to a halt on the road in traffic. The billboard that looms above them advertises a local aquarium. A great white shark stares down at them from flat, emotionless eyes, surrounded by assurances of _terror from the deep!_ in the _Jaws_ font. “I remember being so excited. It was something rare. We didn’t have a lot of money,” he adds, “I told everyone at school who’d listen. Drew sharks on my schoolbooks for weeks.”

Hannibal smiles not unlike the shark, a slice of incisor at the bloom of nostalgia in Will’s voice.

“And did it live up to your expectations?” Hannibal asks.

“We never went,” Will says, “moved, again, a week before my birthday.” The jam eases, and they pull away from the billboard, the great white slipping away into the dark behind them. “My father said he’d make it up to me. I know it wasn’t his fault.”

“But still, you were disappointed.”

“I was used to it,” Will says. “Would’ve been nice, though.”

“How often does this memory come to mind?”

Will shrugs. “Not that often, I was reminded of it.”

“Still,” Hannibal says, signalling for an upcoming exit, “you’ve carried a sense of wonder from that specific memory for some time.”

Will tallies it up: it was his tenth birthday. “Nearly thirty years.”

“The disappointment too. The urge, however small and hopeless, to go back and have it play out the way you wanted.”

“Your point?”

“You’re more normal than you think.”

When Will blinks he sees eyeless faces and three sets of arms. He’s not so sure.

-

At some point during the drive, Will drifts off into a shallow sleep. When he comes to, the car is parked in an unlit corner of a parking lot and Hannibal is outside the passenger door, knocking on the window.

“What?” says Will, groggily.

“You’ll find out,” Hannibal says, voice muffled on the other side of the glass.

Will unclips the seatbelt and shuffles out of the car. When he faces Hannibal, and sees what’s over his shoulder, the lingering nausea fades into disbelief, and unexpected amusement. 

“Are you serious?” 

“They’re closing up, but I was able to persuade them to give us twenty minutes. Will that be enough?”

Will squints. “Persuade them how? Enough for what?”

Hannibal raises his eyebrows and starts walking toward the aquarium whose parking lot Will stands in, unsure what his gut is telling him, for a few seconds longer before following him inside. 

It’s deserted except for a young woman at the ticket booth, cashing up the register. Her starfish-shaped nametag says _Erin_. As they pass her, she points down a hallway to the left.

“Main tank’s thatta way. Twenty minutes.” Erin is brusque with a hand full of twenties. “Unless you got any more of these,” she waves the notes, “my free time ain’t worth it.”

Will looks along the hallway. Its walls are covered in an undersea mural, bright colours muted now that the main lights are off. He wonders how much Hannibal slipped Erin for the overtime. A sign on the wall, on a painted shipwreck, warns them to _Beware!_

Will looks back over his shoulder. Erin taps her fore-fingertip against an imaginary wristwatch. “She thinks we’re here to make out,” he mutters.

Hannibal pushes open the door at the end of the hallway; his frown is barely visible in the low light. “Don't concern yourself with what she thinks.”

Any response fades from Will’s tongue as he sees what’s up ahead, through the doorway.

There’s a tank, no, it’s a wall, it’s an entire side of the room. Thick glass, floor-to-ceiling, with their stretched-out reflections approaching it like water-logged ghosts, and beyond, an expanse of a blue so deep and gem-like Will reaches out to touch it, fingers gently crumpling against the surface until his palm lies flat against the cold.

It extends far above and below the dimensions of the room they’re in. Will is distantly aware of Hannibal behind him, but his eye is drawn to the glittering surface of the water, ever-moving under floodlights in the ceiling. When he looks down, his knees tense with vertigo; the bottom can’t be seen, only an ever-blackening of the water, keeping secret whatever lurks below.

It’s like it’s 1985 again. Shoals of fish drift past in groups of rubies and pearl, scales flashing, lidless eyes staring. Rays flap geometrically; an eel ribbons its way around an outcropping of stone. Seaweeds and anemones crowd like a garden and wave at him, their colours myriad yellows, dazzling blues and bursts of orange and green. Will feels the smile splitting his face; he is mesmerised, transported back to wearing thrift-shop hand-me-downs and scrawling on his textbooks and then it ploughs unstoppably out of the murk toward him like some Cold War submarine: the shark.

As it approaches, he is aware of Hannibal moving to stand beside him. 

The great white is a grey and white torpedo, wrought so perfectly that it slips through the water with only the subtlest movements: a lazy flicker of a wicked tail, the ceaseless left-right-left-right of the head, endlessly scenting the water. Unaware of its position at the zenith of the food-chain, triple-rows of ruinous teeth bared in an immoveable grimace.

In the mirror of the tank-glass Will's expression looks strange on him; he might not have recognised himself but for the matching sensation in his belly. Hannibal too, has a similar look on his face. It's awe, Will realises, but Hannibal’s not looking at the shark.

The great white trawls past them, scattering sea-life fore and aft. 

“Why did you bring me here?” Will asks. His voice sounds small in his ears; too close to the glass maybe, or maybe it’s just been too long since he’s been caught off-guard like this.

Hannibal is looking up toward the surface of the water now, the craquelure-in-motion played back in reverse in his eyes and across his face, dappling him in light-and-shadow. “A timely opportunity to see you smile.” He is focused entirely on the marine tableau in front of them. Will studies his profile, the angle of his nose, the set of his jaw, the precision of his hair combed back from his forehead.

Will’s feels warm fingers sliding up from the nape of his neck into his hairline, but Hannibal’s hand is still by his side. It’s humid, suddenly, or always was. The shark hoves into view again, and this time Will fancies he can see himself in its great, black eye. He wants to know if it even comprehends them, or does its mind only work in binary: hunting or waiting to hunt?

His hand brushes against Hannibal’s. He tests the water with the back of a finger, lingering against a knuckle. Hannibal’s gaze is as thrilling as the shark’s, boring into him as his hand curls around Will’s.

“Why did you bring me here?” Will asks again. His voice carries in it a tremor, delicate and traitorous. 

“Distraction,” Hannibal says simply.

“It’s a misconception,” Will says, grip tightening around Hannibal’s fingers, “that they’re anything other than themselves. Not evil, not maneaters. Just an animal with a singular purpose. No concept of right or wrong.” The shark is swimming in laps of its own design, back and forth in in varying loops in front of them. “I say if you’re dumb enough to jump into the shark’s pantry you can’t blame it for taking a bite.”

“Fair’s fair,” says Hannibal, “a shark is never so rude as to barge into our world so uninvited. Though I do wonder how this one feels at being thrust unasked into an ocean so much smaller and noisier than the one that created it.”

Will winces, thinks of children hammering on the glass, shrieking, ice cream stains and bored parents, selfie-taking teenagers with the phone-camera flash on. Signs stating _Do not touch the tank_ surrounded by the smears of sticky-handed prints. What the shark wouldn’t give for the silence of the sea. 

“It must be hell.”

Hannibal tilts his head. He holds Will’s hand like they’ve done it from day one. To Will, it is an easy intimacy for the most part. “Hell, only if such a creature has any concept of another life.”

“If you don’t know there’s any alternative it doesn’t enter your head.”

“The trouble being,” Hannibal says, “that you know there’s an alternative.”

Will swallows. His palm feels clammy in Hannibal’s grasp now and he wants to pull away. “Yet I keep thrashing,” he says carefully.

“Yes.” Hannibal lets Will’s hand go, reaching to grip his shoulder instead. “Why not surrender to what pulls you under?”

Will wipes the sweat from his hand surreptitiously on his thigh. “I’m afraid I’ll never surface,” he says after a pause. He’s unable to meet Hannibal’s eye.

“And where’s the harm in that?” Hannibal’s hand slides over Will’s jacket- and shirt-collars, curls around the side of his neck, snakes into the hair at the base of his skull. “You never know whom you might meet at the bottom.” 

Will is tilting his face up, refuses to admit that it’s because Hannibal is suggesting it with fingers against occipital bone, tells himself that he is the instigator. Deep down, deep, _deep_ down in the murky waters of his muddled desires, he does want this. 

He meets Hannibal halfway. It’s almost chaste, and then it’s not, Hannibal homing in on him like the shark on the final stretch, bearing down and backing him up against the wall of the aquarium as Will succumbs and just lets him in. He’s not been kissed like this in years, not ever, and his breath fumbles out of him in great shuddering gasps as he clutches at Hannibal’s coat, his neck, his face. 

His back is flush against the glass. His thoughts spiral and he’s hyperaware of how close the plunge is, how simple it would be just to fall through and be devoured, honestly, devastatingly. Hannibal’s other hand dives and pushes palm-flat against Will’s groin. It’s at this point things snap into focus, Will’s brain re-entering his body to belatedly confirm how aroused he is by this turn of events. A vision of being fucked into oblivion, sandwiched between Hannibal and the abyss with only a shark’s grin for comfort sluices through him. He’s rock-hard, and Hannibal’s smile against his mouth is one of sharp, crooked teeth.

“Fuck,” Will manages when he breaks the kiss for breath, pulling lungfuls in like a drowning man. Hannibal’s hand is undoing his belt, his hair falling a little from its coiffure, his eyes dark and hard to read. Their faces are close; Will can feel the heat of him, the intent pulsing from them both like two alarms for a moment harmonising. When Hannibal kneels down in front of him, Will’s head falls back and hits the glass audibly, fingers splaying against it either side of his thighs. 

Will’s thinks about Hannibal’s bespoke pant-knees meeting whatever’s trodden into the aquarium floor. He’s shaking. Hannibal manoeuvres him out of the front of his underwear and without preamble licks a hot stripe along the underside of him and he buckles, head emptying of everything like pouring milk from a jug. All he knows is the chill against his back and the wet heat of Hannibal’s mouth, tongue lapping, throat working.

His orgasm, when it happens, is like a shock of electricity arcing through him without warning. Hannibal swallows him down without a word.

Hannibal gets to his feet and stands in front of Will while he sorts himself back into his pants. He is polite enough to look away. Will isn’t sure if he wants more or for them never to speak of this again. Will is used to being overwhelmed; he needs to take this away and unpick it in his own time.

His mind alights on several thoughts at once. The walk back to the car, the drive home. Sitting in silence, staring straight ahead. He’s not shy and he can see, when he glances deliberately, the outline of Hannibal’s erection against the crotch of his pants as he moves away at last and the azure-light from the tank illuminates him.  
“In need of some distraction?” Will asks. The unpicking is resolutely within his comfort zone and this time, it can wait.

“I think, in my case, it is impossible for you to be anything but.”

Will opens his mouth, not even sure what he wants to say, as the door to the room swings open with a bang.

“Time’s up, love birds,” says Erin. Her affectation of complete disinterest does little to disguise the fact she likely saw everything on some snowy CCTV screen.

Will looks behind him as they leave, but the shark is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure there's any great white sharks in aquariums but it's for _art_.
> 
> TheFierceBeast and I are both writing a piece to fill this prompt (theirs will be for the Gotham fandom!) and I'm dying to see how similar/different our fics end up!


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